


My Love Was Someone Else's Solid Ground

by kattahj



Series: Solid Ground [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: (don't worry Roach is fine), Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Battle, F/M, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Polyamory Negotiations, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:06:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24407752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattahj/pseuds/kattahj
Summary: Yen finds Geralt again after Sodden. She's not at all certain that this is a good thing, until she comes dangerously close to losing him.Companion piece to "We're All Just Hunters Seeking Solid Ground" from Yen's perspective, can be read separately.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg
Series: Solid Ground [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1762582
Comments: 6
Kudos: 46





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to @a-hopeful-disaster and @letspushastrollerjustmeandyou for the beta!  
> This is entirely TV show based. I have used some elements from the book, but don't adhere to book canon. (I've only read the first two, so I don't even KNOW all of book canon!)

This wasn’t Sodden.

Struggling like a newborn fawn, Yennefer stood up and tried to steady her spinning head. Forest. There was forest all around her, though after blinking a few times she could see a cloud of smoke rising in the distance.

Not Sodden, but not too far away, either. She must have portaled by instinct as she had passed out, a measly little portal of only a mile or two. Close enough that she would have heard the noise, had there been any. The battle was over, then. Had she been the one to end it? Had they won?

Was there anyone left?

She reached out with her thoughts, automatically, which was ridiculous. No one would be in range, certainly not Tissaia.

And it wasn’t a mage’s mind she brushed against in her search. Instead, she found one as unyielding as a brick wall, and far too familiar.

Yennefer stiffened.

“Well, fuck that,” she said out loud, and started limping across the narrow forest path, towards the smoke, away from that mind.

A treacherous voice in the back of her head said that there was a loose brick or two in that mental wall, that she could jiggle if she tried, just enough to get a peep.

She promptly told it to shut up, and kept walking. In her current state, creating another portal was too exhausting, but what little strength she had, she sent into the wound in her side, mending it as well as she could manage.

Two miles was nothing. A brisk walk before breakfast. So why did she stumble on every damned root and pine cone on the way?

By the time she reached the edge of the burned area, she could barely see the ground before her feet, and she didn’t have enough thoughts to spare to try to contact anyone.

The mind that eventually reached her was faint with pain and fatigue, much like her own, but blossomed in a youthful glee at the touch.

“Hello, Triss,” Yennefer breathed and sat down. Not even the fact that her cushion was a pile of still smouldering bones could get her back on her feet. “Well. I guess we’re alive.”

* * *

When you saved the North from invasion, you ought to get some sort of commendation, or accolades. Certainly, you ought to get some rest. Not just demands for an encore, louder and a bit more to the right.

“We have the Temerian forces,” Yennefer said to the people seated around the table. Too small a table, and too few people. “Which is more than we had last time, and we still beat them. They can’t be foolish enough to attack again.”

“They haven’t retreated, either,” Tissaia said. Her face was still pale and drawn after the attack. “Reports say they’re regrouping in the mountains, and have started sacking the villages there to fill their storage.”

“Mahakam?”

“Amell.”

“So they’re still south of the river. And after the fall of Cintra, Amell is surrounded by Nilfgaardian territory. Those mountain peaks have a greater chance of killing the soldiers off than we do. And considering their weakened state, that might well happen. Why waste efforts going after them, instead of fortifying where we can?”

“The forces are larger than we reckoned with,” King Foltest chimed in. As a king, he was technically the highest ranking person in the room, though among mages, this was hard to remember.

“If the reports are reliable.”

“Perhaps they’re not,” he admitted. “But I doubt they’d be this far off.”

“Which leads us to another problem.” That was Triss, her voice shaking slightly. “There aren’t enough corpses.”

Yennefer glared at her. “Would you have _more_ dead?”

“Not dead. Corpses. Even taking into account the people who were burned, there are bodies that ought to be on the battlefield and simply… aren’t.”

There was a moment’s silence as everyone took that in.

“So what are you saying happened?” King Foltest asked.

Triss swallowed. “Fringilla talked about using forbidden magic.”

“Necromancy,” Tissaia said heavily. “Damn. All right. At least some of us mages should follow them into the mountains, see what’s happening and do damage control if necessary. Your majesty, I can’t command your forces, but I would suggest that they stay here for now, to hold the plains. And we may need to look into evacuating some of the nearby civilians… yes, Yennefer?”

“Nothing,” Yennefer said. The longing had been whispering to her since she first woke up in the forest. Now it screamed. She did her best to ignore it. It wasn’t real, just magic, and she ought to be strong enough to resist any magic. To leave it all behind, as she continued on her journey.

But no matter how hard she fought it, there was one civilian home she’d have to visit before she left.

* * *

The cottage was only one out of several similar ones scattered along the edge of the forest. Humdrum, but well kept. Whoever the owners, the war had not yet sent them into hardship.

Yennefer knocked on the door and was met by a middle-aged peasant woman with flowing blonde locks, not bad looking, all things considered.

“I’m here to see Geralt,” Yennefer declared.

The woman crossed her arms. “Who may I say is calling?”

Yennefer wasn’t about to stand there explaining herself. It took only a light touch of magic to freeze the woman and walk straight past her into the room.

Geralt and a young girl were sitting by the large oak table. Whatever conversation they’d been having, it must have been a heartfelt one, because his hand was still closed around the girl’s, even as his eyes widened at the sight of Yennefer. Lover? No. Too young, and their poses spoke of kinship, rather than passion.

Out of instinct and curiosity, she peeked into the girl’s mind.

It was like being slapped with a red-hot frying pan. She recoiled, and stared for a moment at this meek-looking creature, before turning her attention to Geralt.

“Can we have a word?”

“Yen?” He sounded as dazed as if he’d had a run-in with the frying pan himself. “What are you doing here?”

“A word? Outside.”

He stood up, hand still in the girl’s, and paused only to let go and tell her, “I’ll be right back.”

On the way out, he frowned at the sight of the peasant woman. “What did you do to Zola?”

“Who? Oh.” Yennefer scoffed and let the woman go, as she led Geralt further away from the cottage. At the edge of the hen-house, she turned and asked, “Who is that girl?”

His frown deepened. “You came here to ask me about Ciri?”.

“Who _is_ she?”

“She’s… I did what you told me to. Took responsibility.”

“Your child surprise?” That explained their body language. “Well, then you’ve got a problem, because that’s sheer unmitigated chaos, right there. Did you know about that?”

“I suspected she might have power,” he admitted reluctantly.

“Power? Power doesn’t even cover it. I haven’t felt anything like this since…” The vague memory solidified, and she drew her breath. “Two problems. Ciri, is that what you said? She feels an awful lot like Queen Adalia of Cintra did, when I met her many years ago. Got an explanation for that?”

His gaze slid aside. “Fuck.”

“You’ve got the _lion cub of Cintra_ in there?” she hissed. “In a farmer’s cottage?”

“They’re merchants.”

“Not the point!”

“She was running lost, after her city fell. I only met her a few days ago, and I was injured by then. I’m taking her to Kaer Morhen soon enough.”

The truth of his words was written in the shadows around his eyes. And he’d been limping, ever so slightly, as they stepped outside, though she’d been too disconcerted to properly notice until now.

“Kaer Morhen may do,” she acknowledged. “Still, even back when, they trained witchers, not mages. And they’re too far away, anything could happen on the road. Tissaia de Vries is over at Sodden, do you want me to talk to her?”

“Absolutely not!” he barked.

“I’m only trying to help.”

“No, you’re not.” His eyes fixed on hers. “You didn’t know about Ciri. You came for me. Why?”

The same irritating sensation that had pushed her in his direction also wrenched the truth out of her. “I felt you, after Sodden. Did my best to ignore it, but it doesn’t seem to work. I’ll be going south next, and figured I’d shake you out of my system first.”

“You’re going south?” Was that concern, in his voice?

“Amell range. The Nilfgaardian forces are regrouping, may or may not be raising the dead. We’re going to suss things out.”

“You need help?”

“What, between feeding and naps?” she mocked. But that gave rise to another idea. “What if it’s not your help I need?”

He caught her drift and looked alarmed, even shifting slightly as if to prevent her from going back into the house. “You want Ciri?”

“She’s not trained. She has all the fine control of an avalanche. But an avalanche might be what we need.”

“I won’t let you use her.”

“Fine. Will you let me _ask_ her?”

After a moment of scowling contemplation, he nodded. “If she’s going, I’ll be coming with her. You realize that, don’t you?”

“For her sake,” Yennefer said sweetly, “I’ll put up with you.”

* * *

With Yennefer’s reputation as a free spirit, it didn’t take much subterfuge to set up operations separately from the other mages, and meet Geralt and princess Cirilla there without anyone noticing.

Well. She hoped. It was hard to tell what Tissaia thought, sometimes. All she said in the matter was, “Be careful, and keep in touch.”

“I will,” Yennefer said. In a way, it was like being back in school, sneaking around with boys and hoping the rectoress’ didn’t notice, which of course she had.

Not that she was sneaking around with boys, this time. Her main interest was the princess.

Small, and wide-eyed, and as intimidating as a fluffy little lamb, but she had listened calmly to Yennefer’s proposal, which was not as gentle as a royal lady might expect.

“You’ve got power, and fuck all idea what to do with it. I could help with that, and you could help us. The war isn’t over yet. What do you say?”

“Go _after_ the Nilfgaardians?” the girl had said, and Geralt’s hand tightened on her shoulder in an anguished attempt at comfort. But after a moment’s thought, she raised her chin and nodded, though tears glistened in her eyes. “I suppose it’s my duty.”

Bless royal duties. Cirilla _tried_ , whatever else could be said about her. Sure she still shied away from reprimands as if Yennefer might bite her, but that was on Geralt, who hovered over his new ward like a swan defending his nest, always ready to throw up a protective wing.

The last thing the blasted girl needed was more protection. There was a fire to her spirit, but it was nearly smothered by her instinct to hand over responsibility to whoever would take it.

At first, this attitude rankled Yennefer so badly that she’d been tempted to give the princess a good kick in her royal arse and send both her and Geralt on their way. Pampered little brat who’d grown up without a day’s hardship in her life.

But if Cirilla’s past was free of hardship, the same could not be said of her present. The fall of Cintra had wiped out her entire life, and she was ill-prepared for anything outside of it. When everyone you knew was dead, perhaps you could be excused for clinging to whoever was left.

Pity was not usually in Yennefer’s repertoire, but in this case, it came unbidden.

The Nilfgaardians were still scattered within the mountain range, which meant small, raggedy bands that could be taken out with pinpoint missions, even by three people, two of whom were pathetic at magic.

She didn’t even worry, until she spotted necromancers’ marks on one of the soldiers she’d taken down. A closer inspection showed her the original fatal wound, unhealed but no longer bleeding.

Neither Geralt nor Cirilla were nearby, so she merely exploded the man. He’d find it a lot harder to rise from the dead as a pile of goo. But it was troubling, nevertheless.

The upside was that between those missions, and trying to shape up the princess, there was little time to spend contemplating how she _felt_ about things. The treacherous snake of longing in her belly only raised its head in the more quiet moments, and those were few and far between.

It was almost two weeks before she found herself in an alley behind the inn they were currently staying at, pressing Geralt against the wall so she could kiss him.

He let her do it without protest, but when he got his mouth back, he said, “I thought you didn’t want this.”

“I don’t,” she said. “But there’s only so long I can go without scratching this damned itch you’ve saddled me with.”

She leaned in again, and he buried his fingers in her hair, cradling her head - but then let his hand drop.

“Perhaps this is a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea,” she said. “But why do you care? It’s your fault.”

“Fault?” He drew back. “I won’t do this if you’re going to blame me for it.”

“You _are_ to blame! You and that blasted wish.”

“I never said a damned thing about feelings! Whatever destiny I may have created, what we’re feeling is real. The wish has nothing to do with it.”

“Right,” she said, the sarcasm bitter on her tongue. “Just like how the Law of Surprise has nothing to do with the way Cirilla looks at you like you hung the moon. You created the destiny, and the feelings got dragged along.”

His shoulders tensed, and he stepped out of her touch. “If that’s what you believe, if you truly think I coerced you into this, then it would be wrong to take advantage, wouldn’t it?”

“Oh, you sanctimonious, self-important ass!” she said, trying to pull him close again, but he backed off.

“I’m not doing this, Yen.”

As he turned and walked away, she was sorely tempted to freeze him in place, get some semblance of control back. But of course she didn’t, even though the sight of his arse as he walked away from her sent shivers up her core.


	2. Chapter 2

The atmosphere was tense after that. Even Cirilla noticed, giving them both pleading glances whenever she happened to get between them. Yennefer understood the sentiment, but didn’t seem able to stop her own crabbiness.

It was almost a relief when Triss one day portaled into the room where they were staying. It was _definitely_ a relief that she did it when Yennefer was alone.

“The brunt of the Nilfgaardian forces are headed in this direction,” she said. “We’re on the road, trying to stir up some shit, collapse a few peaks, you know how it goes, but there are civilians in the way, so…”

“There are civilians _here_.”

“I know. We’re doing our best. I was right, by the way, they have a necromancer.”

“I saw.” Yennefer’s thoughts raced, making her movements feel sluggish. “How far away?”

“I would say half a day’s march, but the dead soldiers don’t need food or rest, which makes it shorter.”

“Do you need me to come?”

“No, it’s better to have you here, protecting the town. Anyway,” Triss glanced at the coats thrown over a chair and raised an eyebrow. “It might be safer for your companions.”

Had the other mages known about Geralt and Cirilla all along? Triss was gone before Yennefer had a chance to ask. She wouldn’t put it past them. Though perhaps not their specific identities, or at least not Cirilla’s - she doubted Tissaia would have given her such free reins if she’d been aware that the last remaining heir of Cintra was there playing apprentice.

Last she’d seen the other two, they’d been down at the stables, so that was where she headed now, slowly. Cirilla was outside, mumbling some Elder words to herself. Just the anti necromancy spells that Yennefer had approved for unsupervised use, since they couldn’t harm anything that wasn’t already reanimated.

“Vi refarigos polvo,” she said with an important tone to the phrase that made her sound like a first year student at Aretuza.

“Vi refarigxos polvo,” Yennefer corrected, coming up from behind. “Get it right, or you’ll be in for a nasty surprise when you try it on an undead.”

Cirilla jumped at the unexpected sound, but quickly amended her spell. “Refarigxos.”

“Good. Geralt still in there?”

“He’s feeding Roach.”

“What, one grain of oat at the time?” Yennefer muttered.

As she stepped into the stable, she found that Geralt in fact was _not_ feeding Roach, who was munching away at her supper while Geralt was in the next box, talking gently to the horse that occupied it. He held the horse’s hoof in one hand and his knife in the other, and seemed to be performing some kind of minor operation.

“Is one horse not enough for you?” she asked.

“I noticed she was favouring her left hind leg. Got a nasty little stone lodged under the shoe.” As he spoke, Geralt twisted the knife, and the offending stone fell out. “There.”

He stood up, gave the horse a last reassuring pat, and stepped out into the aisle.

His hair was coming loose from its ribbon, and there was a smear of dirt across one cheek. The tranquil smile he’d had when dealing with the horse still lingered in the corners of his eyes.

Yennefer had meant to tell him about the impending attack. Instead, what she said was, “Can we just fuck? And not worry about what it means? I could really use it right now.”

For a moment he looked blank, then he nodded. “All right. Here?”

“No! Upstairs. And wash up first.”

That earned her an eyeroll, but he obediently went out into the yard and over by the well, where he filled a bucket and splashed himself with water. “Clean enough?”

“It’ll do,” Yennefer said, and turned to Cirilla. “Geralt and I will be upstairs for a while.”

Judging by the look of distaste on her face, she knew exactly what that meant. Well versed in innuendo, that one.

“How long is a while?”

“Not long,” Yennefer said and took Geralt’s hand to lead him inside.

If she had to sit by and wait for the attack, at least it wouldn’t have to be _idle_ waiting.

* * *

  
  


Geralt had many perks as a lover: experience, stamina, tenderness. Those were enough to make him good, but not exceptional. Exceptionality was accomplished by the sheer passion that swept over her whenever she was in his arms, and made her never want to leave.

Djinn magic or true love - both options were equally terrifying. And equally hard to resist. With their limbs entwined, his mouth trailing the side of her neck as he penetrated her, she couldn’t care less about reasons.

Afterwards too, all her muscles relaxed as she was surrounded by his warmth and feeling oddly safe, as if her magic wasn’t a hundred times stronger than his. The soft, steady gaze of his yellow eyes, looking at her like she hung the moon.

He curled a lock of her hair slowly around his finger and asked, “Are you okay?”

“Sure. Why do you ask?”

“You seemed like something was off, before.”

Well, this was as good a time to tell him as any. “There’s a larger band of Nilfgaardians headed in this direction.”

He let go of her hair and sat up straight. Yennefer pulled the blanket back up, to avoid the cold air he left behind.

“Nilfgaard’s on their way, and instead of telling me, you _fucked_ me?”

“Calm down, they won’t come for hours yet. If they come at all. The other sorcerers are out on the road, fighting them there. I was chosen to provide backup and protection for this town, if needed.” She grimaced. “It’ll probably be needed. Half of those bastards are already dead, and that doesn’t seem to stop them.”

As she spoke, Geralt got out of bed and put his clothes back on, seemingly without paying her much mind, though she could tell by the tension of his back and the turmoil of his mind that he listened to every word.

“So what now?” he asked, reaching for his shirt. “What’s the strategy?”

“Nothing, as far as you’re concerned,” she said. “You and the princess are still our dirty little secret. If you whack away at things with your sword as usual, I’m sure you will be fine. As for Cirilla, she’ll be a lot more use to me.”

“You actually mean to bring Ciri to the frontline of this?” he asked sharply.

“That was always the deal, Geralt!” She stood up and pulled the dress over her head, using a minor spell to lace it. Asking him to do it no longer fit the mood. “That’s why you’re here. And she _agreed_.”

“She’s still a child, Yen!”

“She’s only a few years younger than her grandmother was when she won her first great battle. And Calanthe didn’t even have the power Cirilla has. I’ll keep her as safe as I can, but don’t you _dare_ back out now.”

“I…” He clenched his teeth around whatever reply he’d intended, and glared at her in silence for a moment before he nodded. “I’ll talk to her.”

“Don’t bother. I’ll do it.”

He exhaled sharply at that, but didn’t protest, only laced up his boots in glowering silence.

* * *

Cirilla didn’t protest either, though she blanched a little when Yennefer told her the state of affairs. Once they were out in the street, facing the oncoming soldiers, she kept her chin high and her voice nearly steady as she reeled off the spells she’d been taught.

Regal enough to make her ancestors proud - but still a bundle of nerves underneath, and a bit too reliant on the same formula.

“Careful,” Yennefer admonished as she had to finish off a soldier that hadn’t responded to Cirilla’s frantic repetitions of the polvo spell. “That one was alive. You have to vary your repertoire a bit.”

The living ones were trickier, though, she had to admit. Not least because, for some reason, they seemed to take an active interest in the raggedy princess. Another one came dangerously close, and Cirilla let out a yelp that made the cobblestones rattle in the street.

The soldiers lurched, then steadied, and turned towards Cirilla like ships to a lighthouse.

Well, fuck.

Geralt had noticed it too, and just as Yennefer closed the distance between herself and the girl, he stepped between them.

“Damn it, Yennefer, you promised to keep her safe!”

She bit back a caustic reply. Truth was, she _could_ keep Cirilla safe, and use her to keep the Nilfgaardians at bay too, but she couldn’t do either if she had to argue with Geralt at the same time. And of the three of them, his skills were by far the most expendable.

It took her only a split second to make her decision.

“I need some more devil’s trumpet,” she told him, putting enough of a compulsion in her words to make him obey, though not so much it would overtake his senses. “Please go back and fetch some for me.”

“All right,” he said and mounted his horse, riding off into the street.

Cirilla followed his departure with a look of panic. “Geralt! What did you…”

“Focus!” Yennefer barked, sending a shockwave at the nearest foes with her left hand as her right grabbed the girl’s chin. “We’re going to need a bigger scream than that. Can you do it?”

“Yes. But… I tend to destroy things.”

“I’ll shield them. Do it.”

Cirilla screamed, right away, a surge of chaos so strong Yennefer had to scramble to put some wards up, keep the buildings standing along the road. At least the civilians had had the good sense to get out of the way already.

There was nary a soldier standing when the scream was over, but there were battle noises further along, and although her limbs were quivering from the effort of holding everything in place, Yennefer nudged the girl further along.

“Go on, catch your breath, and then in a little while, let’s have another like that.”

“I’m not sure I can,” Cirilla murmured.

“Well, you’ll find out.”

Turned out she could, to the brink of what Yennefer could even channel in the right direction. It was like using a tidal wave to clean the house. Everything got wet, the dust was certainly gone, but there was no stopping a few possessions from being swept along.

By the time Yennefer was satisfied that the street was safe, her body had all the strength of a pillar of butter on a hot day. It was only with some effort that she managed to gracefully melt into a sitting position, rather than a puddle on the ground.

Cirilla was looking drawn and shaky, too, but just as she was about to sit down as well, she stiffened like a terrier, raised her head, and ran off in the direction they’d come from. Yennefer called her name, but to no avail.

Well, that was odd. Running away before a battle, or during it, was understandable enough, but after?

There was smoke rising in that part of town. No doubt some buildings had been set on fire.

She quickly quenched the snake of worry that had begun squirming in her belly. If Cirilla still had the energy to run, she had enough to get by, and if she made it all the way back to the inn, she’d have Geralt to look after her, too. Sure, he’d be furious with Yennefer for letting her slip away, but there would be no real harm done.

Even so, once the weariness had eased a little, Yennefer got back on her feet and started hobbling back after Cirilla. Better safe than sorry, and she had promised, after all.

She wasn’t truly worried until some time later when she saw a familiar horse galloping towards her, with a fair-haired rider about a foot shorter than it should have been.

Cirilla started shouting as soon as they saw each other, but it wasn’t until she had halted Roach that Yennefer could hear what she said:

“Geralt’s hurt. Badly, badly hurt. You have to come! There’s a man with him, but I think he’s dying, please come quickly!”

There was no time to mess about with things like riding. Yennefer straightened up, grabbed the horse’s bridle, and pulled them all through a portal.

The inn was on fire. Her gaze was automatically drawn to the place where their room had been, and then scanned the street.

Well. _That_ kind of doublet was recognizable enough.

It was a strange kind of relief, seeing Jaskier bent over Geralt, as if she wasn’t alone in this. Which was ridiculous, because when had the bard ever been of use to anyone?

“Never been happier to see you,” he said, and she could have echoed the emotion, but she wasn’t about to.

As she sat down, she could tell right away that Cirilla hadn’t been exaggerating. Life was ebbing from Geralt with every heartbeat - which were still slower than a normal man’s, but not by much,

Fuck.

There was a piece of wood sticking out of his body. She left it in for the moment and concentrated on the area around it. Sensing a body was usually less tumultuous than sensing a mind, but not so much at this moment. Internal bleeding in several places; she might be able to stem the flow, but he was already going into shock. Damage to organs she barely knew the names of. Shallow breathing, and no sensation at all below the chest. His back had been broken.

_I can’t fix this_ said a treacherous voice in her head that she absolutely refused to listen to. Instead she barked orders at Cirilla to find them a room at a new inn, and at Jaskier to fetch her Geralt’s potions.

Geralt was still awake enough to drink when she told him to, though he faded into unconsciousness soon after - and no wonder, considering the amount of poison in that stuff. Well, he had survived it as a child, he’d just have to survive it again. At least it was slowing his heartbeat, buying them some time.

She’d come prepared for battle, not for healing. If only she’d been in her workshop, with everything at hand, and in her full strength - but who was she kidding? Even then, it would have been a challenge.

Jaskier was still hovering over them, much like Geralt had been when the bard was the one injured. That had been a tricky one too; in the end she had needed to slay a whole flock of songbirds.

That was a thought. This injury was physical, not magical, but the principle remained the same.

There were no birds overhead. The creatures probably had the good sense to flee when the battle started. But no human abode was ever entirely free of other animals sharing the space. Across the road, she found a chittering, scuttering pack of rats, and grabbed them with cramped ferocity, hauling them along.

Jaskier cursed at the sight of the rats, and she cursed right back at him, in desperation and fear, screaming at the top of her lungs: _“I will not let him die!”_

As if she had a choice. As if it was a matter of willpower, when she was too tired, not a skilled enough healer.

Well, her ignorance and weariness would have to carry her off to hell, because she refused to live and watch him die.

The cold determination in that knowledge would have frightened her at any other time. Now, it brought only calm clarity. Both of them would make it through this, or neither. She raised her hand, and dissolved the first rat.

The rats were still crawling over Geralt’s body when Cirilla sent the message that a new room had been found. Yennefer barely paused her work even to portal them over, but it was a relief once she was there and could shut the door on the world - bard and princess included - to concentrate on her patient.

Which was sorely needed. Wounds that she had already closed started bleeding again, and she sent him deeper into sleep to make sure he didn’t stir by accident. The potion he’d taken helped slow the blood flow, but she still had to make sure the brain didn’t suffer from it, and the digestive system wasn’t too happy either. What was the name of that yellowish lumpy bit? Whatever it was, it was badly torn, with bits of vertebrae scattered through it. And that, in turn, came from the disaster area called the spine.

Sweat was pouring down Yennefer’s face, and she disintegrated the remaining rats, taking their energy into herself.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she told Geralt when his heartbeat started to flutter. “You’re not dying on me.” She sent a burst of lightning through him, just enough to keep him going, but in this state, it stung her fingertips, and she had to snap them over and over to return sensation.

“How was I supposed to know you’d get in this kind of trouble just running an errand? And where did that bard come from?” The heart was steadying now, at least, and the impalement wound was closing up.

She sank down to the edge of the bed. It was a less practical position, but her feet no longer carried her. Even her hands were shaking to the point where some spells needed to be said two or three times before they had their intended effect.

She finished up the yellow bit. Steadier breathing now, skin not so clammy. His, at least. Hers was a different matter. Geralt’s contours shifted and lurched before her eyes. In this state, she’d make a terribly botched job of his spine, which she hadn’t even started on yet.

A whisper in the back of her head told her to lie down and sleep. People could survive with broken backs, happened all the time.

But he was a Witcher. That was all he had. No property, no family beyond that orphaned little girl waiting downstairs. If she didn’t heal him right, who would care for him? Could she do it herself?

He’d hate that. And so would she. Neither of them would ever forgive her for giving less than everything.

So instead, she stood up and opened the door, telling the first person she saw, “Bring me a glass of water! No - apple juice.”

The stranger, a bird-like little man, agreed hastily. She wasn’t sure whether she’d managed to intimidate him or only evoke his pity. As long as it brought liquid to her parched lips and sugar to the rest of her body, she couldn’t care less.

“Well, then,” she told Geralt. “We’re doing this. I took down Nilfgaard’s forces with all of its men, I can bloody well put you back together again.”

* * *

  
  


“I never asked to love you.”

“I wanted to love _somebody_ , that’s true. But I never dreamed of anybody like you. You’re more lost than I am. No place to call your own. Even your horse isn’t the same, though you pretend differently.”

“Granted, those songs have done wonders for your reputation. I remember when the things said about Geralt of Rivia weren’t half as nice as they are now. All rubbish either way, though, isn’t it? Does anyone ever bother to tell the truth?”

“There once was a witcher called Geralt of Rivia who was stubborn as a mule, talked more to his horse than to people, and had a ridiculous code of honour that kept landing him in trouble.”

“It’s only a few weeks since you were last injured, and you just _had_ to go and top it, didn’t you?”

“Oh, and he fucked with destiny when he definitely shouldn’t have.”

“I wish you hadn’t pulled me into that wish of yours. It would have been nice to be allowed to just fall in love, like a normal person.”

“Granted, maybe I wouldn’t have. But I would have liked the opportunity.”

There was no reply. Of course not; he was still deep in the sleep she had given him. But it was a calm sleep, now. Nothing bleeding. No crisis. As far as she could tell, everything back in place.

Tomorrow, she’d wake him up and know for sure. First she needed her own rest - and something more than apple juice for sustenance.


	3. Chapter 3

It was only the hunger clawing at her stomach that stopped her from falling asleep on her feet while she made her way to the main hall of the inn.

Cirilla and Jaskier were sitting there in front of some empty places, eyes hollow with fear and weariness. She grinned at them, and relief surged through her body, as if the very act of smiling finally made her triumph real, even to herself.

“I fucking did it, didn’t I? Can you believe it? I know I can’t, and I was there.”

Cirilla’s eyes filled with tears, but her smile was radiant. Jaskier hurried off to get some more food for Yennefer, which was a nice gesture, even if he did have to use her own coin for it.

Yennefer sat down and took Cirilla’s hands across the table.

“Deep breath,” she said.

“Thank you. Thank you so much for helping him. When I saw him lying there, I was convinced he would die.”

“Do you know what happened?” Yennefer asked. She hadn’t had a chance to enquire before, though the injuries had spoken of blunt force and suggested an accident rather than a battle.

“Oh, uh, apparently the stairs collapsed and they both fell. Geralt cushioned Jaskier’s fall.”

“Of course he did,” Yennefer said, watching the bard make his way back with the meal. It would have felt good to be able to blame him, but how could she? That kind of act was entirely within Geralt’s repertoire. If anyone had made him behave in an uncharacteristic way, it was she.

“Could you sit with him for a while?” she asked. “Just while I eat. He is sleeping, but it would be nice to know that someone is there.”

Cirilla instantly flew up from her seat. “Oh, can I?”

“Please do.” As the girl turned to leave, Yennefer called to her. “Cirilla? You did a really good job today.”

That gave her another radiant smile, and then Cirilla rushed up the stairs, just as Jaskier returned with the plate of food.

He sat down opposite her, squirming a little. “I know I’ve said… things. And I’m sorry. You were magnificent. Thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for _you_.”

“I know. Thank you anyway. You’ve helped him in ways I never could. And I know you love him. If you want… if you want me to leave, I will.”

What an offer, handing Geralt over to her on a silver platter. As if it could ever be that easy between them.

Yes, she wanted Geralt. After a day like this, the least she could do was admit it. She wasn’t at all sure that she wanted him all to herself. That road went in both directions, after all. And even if the bard was annoying, and she’d just as soon see the back of him… Geralt didn’t feel that way, for whatever reason.

She’d just put Geralt’s body back together, she wasn’t about to break his heart. Only an idiot would expect it of her, and she informed Jaskier of as much.

“You think I’d want to hurt him like that? Especially now? Tomorrow when he wakes up, stuck in bed, in six kinds of pain, I’ll just swan in there and say, by the way, I kicked your best friend out because I was jealous. Isn’t that a brilliant idea?”

“He’d never call me his best friend.”

That’s because he’s an emotionally constipated twat where you’re concerned, she didn’t say. Besides, it wasn’t the real, if unspoken, friendship that had the bard looking so mournful. He’d been throwing longing looks after Geralt for years, and she couldn’t resist ribbing him a little.

“Doesn’t mean that’s not what you are. Of course, I sort of figured that’s not what you want to be.”

That made him curl in on himself even more. So easily wounded. “Doesn’t matter what I want, does it? It’s not what Geralt wants.”

“I don’t think even Geralt knows what Geralt wants,” she scoffed. “But you’re in the mix somewhere. Heaven knows why. Probably another stupid sick joke of destiny. Let me make one thing clear. I’m not giving him up for you. But I’m not letting him go over you either.”

He mulled that over, and she watched him as she ate. Now, it was no great mystery why he’d hang around Geralt, but the reverse? Was it just that the Witcher was so starved for devotion that he’d take it from anyone who offered? If so, she could hardly blame him. It was a mistake she’d made herself.

And there was something pitifully endearing about Jaskier, as he prattled on about some mundane childhood memory concerning some quarrelling cats wanting to sit in the same lap. It seemed utterly pointless until he got to the end and gave her a meaningful stare.

“What are you suggesting?” she asked. “We should _timeshare_ Geralt?”

“I’m suggesting… a truce?”

That had to have taken a lot out of him. He’d always been vocal in his dislike and distrust of her, and she’d never given a shit either way. In the vast landscapes of her life, his opinions were a few specks of rain, if that.

But if she meant to keep Geralt and put some proper effort into this relationship, she couldn’t treat the bard as inconsequential anymore. He was part of Geralt’s strange, thrown-together family, and she had to deal with that.

“What the hell. I’m already sharing him with a princess and a horse, might as well throw in a bard. Truce.”

* * *

She woke at a rooster’s crow, far from rested, but with so much sunlight coming through the window that she rose anyway. Geralt’s wounds looked a lot better, and his breathing was regular, so she took the sleeping spell off him as well. Couldn’t see if everything was in order until he was awake.

Even with the spell off, he was slow to regain consciousness, and she used the time to improve her appearance. She didn’t have the energy for any proper spellwork, but there was a wash basin at the door. Hair and skin were easily fixed that way, and she used just a pinch of magic to clean her dress.

A groan from the bed made her turn around, and she smiled at Geralt, whose customary scowl was a tad more dazed than usual.

“Good morning,” she said. “Welcome back. I’d ask how you’re feeling, but I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“Yennefer.” His gaze met hers, and then wandered across the room. “Where… where am I?”

“New inn. The old one went up in flames.”

“The Nilfgaardians?”

“We beat them in the end, for now, anyway. I would love to take full credit, but I think there were more mages in other parts of town. Although I have to say, your little princess showed some skill out there.”

“Ciri. Was she hurt?”

“She’s fine.” Yennefer walked up to the bed and took his hand, closing her fingers around his wrist. The skin was warm and the pulse steady underneath.

“And you?” he asked, in that infuriatingly soft tone he got sometimes.

“Me?” she said, trying to chase the butterflies out of her stomach. She wasn’t some silly infatuated schoolgirl. “I’m fine too.”

“You look…”

“Careful. Comments on a woman’s looks can be hazardous even when you’re _not_ dealing with a sorceress.”

“Tired.”

“Well. Perhaps if I hadn’t had to piece you together like a cracked egg _after_ I’d already dealt with a major battle, I wouldn’t be.” She stroked the hair out of his face and leaned down to kiss his cheek, but he turned his face so their lips met instead. For a moment, she allowed herself to revel in the kiss, and smiled at him as she let go. “So. How good a job did I do? I know you’re in pain, but do you at least feel everything?”

He frowned. “Yes?”

“Any trouble breathing?”

“No.”

“Do you remember what happened?”

“There was a fire. The stairs went out.” His eyes widened. “Jaskier! Is he all right?”

“He’s better than you. But then, that was rather the purpose of you using yourself as a cushion in the first place, wasn’t it?”

“Is he here? Can I talk to him?”

There actually _was_ a sting of jealousy, smaller than a pinprick, at the eagerness in his voice. “I’ll go get him.”

* * *

All right. So maybe it wasn’t strictly necessary to kick Jaskier in order to wake him up, but at least it made her discover the impressive set of bruises around his chest that he’d neglected to mention so far. Seemed that even a Witcher body between him and the floor hadn’t been enough to let him escape completely unscathed.

And it was good to have an excuse to leave the room, to fix up some salve while Jaskier and Geralt kissed and made up - quite literally, judging by their guilty expressions when she returned.

Geralt’s, she could understand. But Jaskier had no need to look so nervous; this had been part of their agreement. It seemed she still intimidated him, and she handed over the salve to him with just a slight hint of threat in the gesture. A girl had to amuse herself, after all.

Next, she tested Geralt’s range of feeling, with a concentration that she tried to keep as businesslike as possible. He was weak, still, and his reflexes were off on the right side, but considering the primitive conditions and her own state as she’d carried out the spells, it was better than expected. In time, he might heal fully, or close to it, although that would require the kind of healing exercises that were well outside her area of expertise.

The best thing to do was no doubt to bring her to the temple of Melitele in Ellander, and she told him as much. Now, how to explain _that_ detour to Tissaia was another matter.

Geralt accepted the suggestion without protest. “When do you want to go?”

“In a few days, when I’ve got the energy. I’m all exhausted now. Afraid I’ll have to leave you to simmer for a while. Should be all right, as long as you don’t do anything stupid like try to get out of bed.”

“Hm. Yen…” He took her hand, his calloused touch surprisingly gentle. “I love you.”

Over the decades, she’d heard that phrase a number of times. Spoken it, even. Sometimes meant it. If anyone had asked, she would have said that the words no longer had any sort of effect on her. Yet hearing it from Geralt like this made her heart melt in a way it hadn’t done in a very long time.

She quickly gathered her wits and tried not to smile, with little success. With a glance towards Jaskier, she asked Geralt, “Is that your way of buttering me up so I let you keep _him_ around?”

“No. It’s true.”

So earnest, so simple, as if he were a mere boy in the torrents of first love, rather than a battle-hardened Witcher wary of humanity’s foibles. Guarding her own heart seemed petty in the face of it. Perhaps it was tiredness that made her throw caution to the wind and reply, “Well, I love you too.”

She pressed a kiss on his forehead to emphasize her words, and then another on his lips, which deepened as he returned it. A wave of emotion rolled over her, the relief of _still alive_ mixing with the sheer lust that said _mine_.

When they broke the kiss off, she caught sight of Jaskier’s expression and smirked. “Tit for tat, bard.”

“You… you _watched_ us?” he stammered, his cheeks crimson and his mouth gaping like a codfish.

“No. Lucky guess. I hope you don’t play cards, you haven’t the face for it.”

“He does,” Geralt said, watching them both with an expression far too soft for a Witcher.

“Gods.” Yennefer rolled her eyes. She found, to her surprise, that she might rather get used to having the bard around, if only to tease them both. “No wonder he’s broke. Don’t worry, we’ve talked it out, you can keep him. It’s not like I’m a master of chastity either. Although, I must say, I have much better taste.”

“No doubt,” Geralt agreed with a tiny smile.

She kissed him again, then got off the bed and headed for the door. “Five more minutes in the lap, bard, then I’m waking Ciri. She’s been worried too.”

* * *

It took more than five minutes. When she stepped into the corridor, she was faced with a familiar figure, and halted, fighting the ridiculous urge to put an invisibility spell over the room she had just left. 

“There you are,” Tissaia said. “I wasn’t sure where you got off to.”

“Here I am,” Yennefer said, crossing her arms. “Sorry I didn’t let you know. I’ve been busy.”

“So I can tell. Good job out there.”

“Thank you.”

“The town seems safe for now. No guarantee it will stay that way, of course. We’ll be meeting up in Temeria for further council.”

Yennefer managed to bite her tongue enough not to say ‘well, fuck that’. Instead, she opted for a less blunt form of honesty. “I’ll have to sit this one out. I’m exhausted. I need some time to recuperate.”

“And so does your lover, I presume.”

Yennefer watched her in silence, waiting for the arbitration.

“You could have just told me,” Tissaia said with a sigh. “A Witcher is a useful ally. Even if he did end up injured.”

“I’m taking him to the Temple of Melitele in Ellander, when we’re both up to it.”

“Sounds like a good idea. And what of the girl?”

Automatically, Yennefer stepped into the path to Ciri’s and Jaskier’s bedroom, even though there was precious little in her current state that she could do to stop Tissaia, should she venture there.

“The girl?” she said blankly.

“The girl who helped you during the battle. The Lion Cub of Cintra. Come now, do you think I wouldn’t recognize her family’s handiwork?”

“You’re not taking her to Aretuza,” Yennefer said, fists clenched so hard that her nails dug into her skin.

“Good. We agree.”

Yennefer blinked, and Tissaia scoffed at her expression.

“Cintra currently has no throne,” she explained in a tone as if Yennefer was a particularly dense student. “Some day, that might change. When it does, we need someone _on_ that throne. Now, people don’t take too kindly to being ruled by immortal sorcerers. An unfortunate form of prejudice, but it’s there. The princess will be more useful producing mortal heirs.”

“What, like a broodmare?”

“That is her duty. We all have one.”

“I’m taking her to Ellander,” Yennefer said, forcing herself as upright and stern as she could muster.

“Very well. I trust you’ll keep her safe. Should that change, I will come for her.” Audience over, Tissaia gathered up her skirts and proceeded to the stairs, but paused and asked, “By the way. Why the bard?”

“Don’t ask me. He’s Geralt’s.”

Tissaia raised an eyebrow. “I see.”

That was her parting greeting.


	4. Chapter 4

Normally, Yennefer wasn’t a big fan of healing temples. The subdued atmosphere and all the prayer were like a big wet blanket smothering her soul. But she had to admit that at a time like this, when even creating the portal had her legs shaking with the effort, the sluggish pace and quiet gardens were exactly what she needed. The first week, she slept more than half the hours in the day, while the priestesses took care of Geralt. Though their overall power was less than hers, they had tricks and remedies that were not in her repertoire.

A couple of weeks in, she found his bed empty, and Geralt himself sitting on a bench near the fish pond. He saw her first and called her name, with a boyish delight in his gruff voice.

“Did you make it all the way out here on your own?” she asked.

“I would love to say yes, but the truth is, I had a priestess on one side and Ciri on the other.”

“Ah. Well, you’re out here, that’s the important part.”

“And it’s a lovely place to be.” He reached out a hand for her, and she took it, sitting down next to him. “You know, when I first woke up, I didn’t dare to believe that I would heal. I tried to prepare myself for the worst, no matter what you or anyone else said. But now… I can feel it. It’s a damned lot slower than I like, but it’s happening.”

“Patience is a virtue.”

“Hm. The strange thing is, even with all the aches and pains and stupid limitations, I’m happy here.”

“Is that even possible, at our age?” She tried to fill the question with light sarcasm, but it sounded sad and wistful to her ears.

“Apparently so. I’ve got a moment’s respite, with people I care about. You, Ciri, Jaskier.”

“Where is Jaskier, anyway?” she asked, trying to shake off the sense of vulnerability.

“Writing. Very busy, must be left alone. I suspect by the time he’s done, our recent acts of heroism will be much grander than they ever were in real life. Well, mine at least. Yours need no embellishment.”

“Do you think he’ll even include me?”

“I’m sure of it.” His gaze held hers, warm and steady. “I don’t think I’ve thanked you properly, for everything you’ve done. That you’re still doing. I know you want to get back to the other sorcerers…”

“Who says I do?”

“You don’t?”

“Geralt, do you have _any_ idea how hard it was to heal you?” Overcome with emotion, she stood up, trying to quench it by pacing around. “Just after a major battle. Only a few days after Sodden. I’m _tired_ , Geralt. I need this place as much as you do.”

“I didn’t realize,” he said, brows knitted together in concern. “I’m sorry.”

“Are you, though? Our room wasn’t that high up. Maybe enough to kill a human, but it seems to me that a Witcher should have been able to say a spell, slow the fall, do something.”

She paused, waiting for a reply, but he only watched her in silence.

“So why didn’t you?” she prompted.

“There wasn’t time.”

“Because you had to save the bard.”

“Yes.”

She exhaled through her teeth, though she’d rather have screamed. “Geralt!”

“Don’t be jealous,” he pleaded.

“I’m not. I just don’t understand you, sometimes. Why you would be ready to give up your life for him.”

“I’ve risked it for far less.”

The words were stated simply, yet somehow got the last energy from her outburst, and she sat back down on the bench, gracelessly.

“I don’t understand _that_ either.”

He made no attempt to explain or defend himself, only put his hand over hers and held it, as lightly as if it was a songbird’s egg instead of a human limb.

The truth tasted bitter in her mouth as she spoke it: “I sent you back there. With a lie, and a spell, to get you out of the way.”

“I know.”

“I’m so, so sorry.”

“I’m not. It would have been far worse to return and find him dead. Or if I’d never learned of his death at all, and he’d just remained missing from my life, forever.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Geralt sighed, and Yennefer figured she might not even get an answer, or not one beyond “hm”, but after some time, he did speak again.

“He saw me in a way no-one else had. When the world treated me like an emotionless monster, he marched straight into my life without fear and changed the tune. Completely. Single-handedly. We could go years without seeing each other, but somehow he never truly left. Not until I outright told him to.”

“All right,” she said slowly, her voice choked by the lump in her throat. “So you’re grateful. It doesn’t mean you have to love him back.”

“I know,” he said. “But I do. I know he can seem like a prattling, irritating fool… all right. That he can _be_ a prattling, irritating fool. But he’s also loyal, warm-hearted, good-looking…”

“Really?”

“Really.” He smiled a little. “It doesn’t make me love you any less. You’re a raging fire, and I’m desperately cold when you’re not around.”

“Which one of you is the poet again?” she asked, but it came out softer than she’d intended it to, and he only smiled.

“You’re both a part of my heart. When I thought I had lost you both, it nearly destroyed me.”

That made her frown. “Lost us both? What do you mean?”

“That day on the mountain.” He didn’t need to specify any further - she remembered it as well as he did, and even now, in the warmth and sun, the memory stung. “You left, and I took it out on him. It was the last time I saw him, until the fire.”

Well. That went a long way to explain Geralt’s readiness to throw his life away.

“I damn near lost _you_ ,” she reminded him. “Permanently. I worked myself to ribbons trying to stop that from happening. There was a point where I thought it would kill me too, and not just the physical part of it. So yes. Maybe I do understand.”

He put an arm around her waist and kissed her forehead. “I’m sorry. For that part, at least. Hurting you.”

“I’ll just have to get used to having something to lose again.” When had she truly had it, before? Even Istredd had only been a reflection of her own desires. This terrifying need for another person was new. And Geralt, of all people. Reckless, self-sacrificing Geralt. “It seems I must protect all three of you, to keep you safe, and not be hurt again.”

“Are you alright with that?”

“You throwing your life at anyone who’ll have it? Hardly. You and Jaskier? Of course.” She smirked. “I’m assuming you’ll grant me the same courtesy.”

“Sure,” he said automatically, and then, “Is there anyone in particular…?”

“Not at the moment,” she admitted. “I was speaking on principle.”

“Ah, well, on principle.” He tickled her ribs, and she elbowed his in retaliation.

A blackbird started singing somewhere among the trees, and they fell silent, listening to the birdsong and the soft murmur of the creek. With Geralt’s arm around her waist like this, Yennefer felt every one of his slow breaths reverberate through her body, and she soon fell into sync with them.

“When I heal fully,” he said eventually, and amended, “ _if_ I heal fully…”

“You will,” she said.

“I still mean to take Ciri to Kaer Morhen.”

Yennefer shrugged. “There are worse plans.” Should she go with him, if that happened, or return to Tissaia and future war councils? Neither journey seemed particularly appealing. “Is it terrible of me to hope it takes a while? It’s so peaceful here. I’d like to cling to that smidgeon of happiness just a little longer.”

His grip around her tightened. “Are you saying that you’re happy here, with me? At our age?” Though his face was serious, the smile was still there in his voice.

“Don’t get any wild ideas, Witcher,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder. “But yes.”


End file.
